


Tender Mercies

by sphilia



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: BDSM themes, Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 10:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphilia/pseuds/sphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl helps Mesothulas test a new invention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tender Mercies

**Author's Note:**

> where's the prowl/tarantulas content at my crops are weeping

“I'm not sure I'm comfortable with being restrained like this.” Despite the words, Prowl made no attempt to retract his arms from their position behind his back, even as he felt soft straps bind them together by the wrists. He sat quite comfortably on a large, grey slab, knees slightly drawn up and legs falling naturally apart. Mesothulas’ newest project hovered over his head, a skeletal construct of naked wiring and mysterious lights.

“It wouldn't be necessary if you'd had a little more self-control last time,” Mesothulas said behind him, tightening the straps a little more. “As enjoyable as I find watching you touch yourself, it won't do for the data to be contaminated, hmm?” Mesothulas leaned over Prowl's shoulder, his presence like a ghost against Prowl's cheek, and placed a hand on his thigh, fingers tapping a light rhythm that sent a teasing tremor down Prowl's plating.

Prowl shivered faintly in his bonds. “If you're so worried about contaminating data, you shouldn’t be touching me either,” he said with a pointed frown at the offending hand.

“Quite right,” Mesothulas sighed, making a show of reluctantly withdrawing his hand, fingers dragging slowly up Prowl's thigh, lightly flirting with his hip before vanishing.

He turned away from Prowl, crossing to his workbench next to the slab, set up especially for the experiment. He took a seat with one leg crossed over the other, facing Prowl, and picked up a recording device.

“Sensory Control Field testing, session two with subject Prowl,” he began. His eyes caught Prowl's, a wicked glint in their depths. “For today's session, subject has had his hands restrained in order to prevent subject from interfering with the experiment.” He paused artfully. “Additionally, subject looks quite appealing tied up. Such a tasty morsel.”

“That's not a relevant observation,” Prowl groused.

“Shush, subject. Note to self, for next session, consider adding a gag.”

“You are not gagging me.”

“Subject thinks he gets to dictate the parameters of the experiment. It's so cute when he tries to get authoritative.”

“Mesothulas…”

“Oh, no need to look so embarrassed, Prowl. It's not as if I'll actually be submitting these files for peer review.”

Prowl huffed, shifting in his bonds. “Just start your test.”

“Oh, it's already started,” Mesothulas said silkily. “The intensity is currently set to level one.”

Prowl stiffened, brow set in deep furrows. He'd noticed nothing, but when his attention turned inward, he detected a very faint tickling against the back of his neck, like fingers ghosting lightly over the cables. Without thinking, he dimmed his optics, focusing his senses on that invisible touch. It trailed slowly along his shoulders until it encountered the joints where his arms began and dipped inside. Though the seams were hardly wide enough to dip a single digit inside, the touches encountered no resistance, but sank or slipped inside like liquid, stroking very lightly over the internal cables.

“Optics online, Prowl,” Mesothulas tutted. “We're testing contradictory sensor input, not a fully immersed fantasy scenario. Hmm, there's an idea… I should write that down…” Turning his vision back on, Prowl watched Mesothulas sift through datapads with dull detachment, still focused on the featherlight tickle running along his internal wiring.

He held and released a deep breath, vents shivering slightly. The sensation was... disconcerting, but harmless. There was no need to be consumed by it. “Did you lower the intensity?” he asked after a moment, pleased that his voice betrayed no loss of composure. “I remember last time being more… noticeable.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Mesothulas looked up, clasping his hands with glee. “I knew you would notice, Prowl. I fine tuned it, adding more levels of control. I know how you appreciate subtlety…” His optics swept down Prowl's frame in a near leer.  “And control.”

Prowl's door wings twitched, once. With effort, he resisted the instinctive urge to pull his knees closed against Mesothulas’ teasing scrutiny; he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of accusing him of being shy. After a moment, Mesothulas turned his intense gaze on Prowl's face, with that knowing look that always made Prowl feel like he'd been caught doing something… naughty.

Ugh. Now he was even starting to sound like him.

“Let’s turn it up, shall we?” Mesothulas said softly. “Level two, I think.”

As soon as the words left him, Prowl felt the phantom touch vanish from within his shoulder area, settling instead on his hips. This time, it was a firmer sensation, nearly as if a real pair of hands were holding him lightly, thumbs rubbing little circles against his pelvis. He actually had to glance down to make certain there was no one there.

“This level should be closer to what you experienced as ‘level one’ during the last session. How do you feel?”

“It's… realistic,” Prowl said slowly.

“Of course! Would you expect any less of me? But please, be more specific. You’re making a valuable contribution to science - precision is everything.” Despite his words, the eager way Mesothulas leaned forward, hungrily drinking in every reaction of his frame, did not make Prowl feel very scientific.

He huffed, but he looked down his own body, trying to focus on the ghost touch. “It feels like hands. They're… holding me, from behind. They're touching my stomach.” He paused, brow furrowing. “They're moving now. Up… touching my bumper. No-- just below it,” he corrected himself. He paused, releasing a stuttering vent. “ It’s… stroking, rubbing, the seam where my bumper meets my torso. Oh,” he gasped. “The-- if they were real fingers, they shouldn't be able to do that… They're… dipping into the seam, touching cables-- it feels like they’re being tugged…”

Prowl stopped, biting his lip, staring down, unseeing. Without thinking, he was leaning slightly back, offering more room for his phantom tormentor, hands twisting in his bonds until he could lay them flat against the slab for support.

“Oh, Prowl,” Mesothulas’ voice breathed, soft, reverent. “You are magnificent. You're doing so well, Prowl. Let's move up to level four, shall we?”

A mouth wrapped unseen lips around his neck cables and bit down. Prowl whined pitifully.

“Very good, Prowl. Very, very good. Look at me, Prowl.”

Prowl reset his optics once, twice, and looked up. Mesothulas was standing at the base of the slab, leaning close, watching Prowl with avid interest. The phantom hands groped a generous handful of Prowl's headlights. Though he knew there was nothing to see, he felt terribly, obscenely exposed under Mesothulas’ heavy gaze. As if he was being put on show.

He swallowed thickly, valiantly ignoring the sensation of teeth scraping down his spine. “Mesothulas… Remind me again what use this technology is supposed to have to the autobot cause.”

Mesothulas cocked his head, optics calculating. A predator studying his prey, Prowl caught himself thinking. The thought made his spark leap in his chest.

“It's your cause, Prowl. How you use my inventions is up to you… You must be distracted if you haven't already thought of a few ideas yourself.” Mesothulas paused, watching Prowl's hips jerk at a particularly bold touch with hungry intent.

His optics dimmed when Prowl pulled his knees up and together in a futile attempt to save his dignity, his entire frame radiating embarrassment. “Let me see you, Prowl,” he admonished. “I so rarely get to see you enjoy my gifts in action. Don't hide from me.”

An inarticulate noise escaped Prowl's vocalizer. Inexorably, his knees parted under the weight of Mesothulas’ command, his heavy gaze like a physical caress against Prowl's plating. The ghost touches he could endure, but being watched by Mesothulas, being the focus of that unique mind - that was peculiarly irresistible.

And that was a sentiment he would never allow to cross his lips.

“Can…” Prowl took a vent, trying to gather his fraying thoughts. “Can this invention inflict pain, as well as… pleasure?”

“Very good, Prowl,” Mesothulas murmured. “Yes, it can. They are the same thing, after all. It would only take a bit of tweaking with the intensity and behavioral patterns.”

“Then… I can make use of it.”

Mesothulas hummed, amusement thick. “Prowl, Prowl. Always with your head in the cause.” He reached, as if to lay his hand on Prowl's knee, but caught himself midway. A disappointed sigh exhaled from his vents. “Do you have any idea how tasty you look like this? I wish I could gobble you up.”

“You wouldn't want to contaminate the data,” Prowl murmured, voice hoarse.

“Indeed. It wouldn't do to have to… repeat the experiment.”

If Prowl had a response to that, it vanished in the burst of static that seized his vocalizer when the phantom tongue abruptly found its way under his plates and took a long, sweeping lick along his intimate array. His circuitry tingled in its wake. As the mouth continued to quest and prod, his leg curled up in response, out of his control; if he hadn't been on display before, he certainly was now.

“M-Mesothulas,” he panted, ashamed of how thin his voice sounded. “Mesothulas…”

“Oh, yes… Marvelous,” Mesothulas sighed, entranced. His optics were brightened with arousal, shading a rich, intense orange. “Say my name just like that, Prowl. I want to hear it when you go over the edge.”

Prowl whined, his vents hitching and shuddering unsteadily. The ghost hands raked down the sensitive biolights on his torso, stoking the heat burning in his circuitry.

“Mesothulas, please…” He shivered all over, utterly at the mercy of the sensory onslaught. “Please, help me…!”

“Shh, it won't be long now, Prowl. You're doing so well, so very, very well. Just a little more…”

With a weak cry, Prowl toppled over the edge, pleasure center bloated to bursting, triggering cascades of pleasure feedback through his frame that settled slowly into limp-strutted euphoria.

Half dazed, he noted Mesothulas clambered aboard the slab and gathered his limp frame in his arms. Sighing softly, Prowl leaned his head against Mesothulas’ shoulder. Later, he would likely insist that this wasn't cuddling, but now he simply enjoyed Mesothulas’ hand running soothing motions up and down his back.

“That was incredible, Prowl,” Mesothulas murmured, voice thick with some sentiment Prowl didn't have the presence of mind to decipher.

“The-- the test?”

“It's over, Prowl.  I've turned it off. It's only me here.”

Prowl huffed something inarticulate. Lazy wisps of steam wafted from his vents, dancing where they met gentle breezes from Mesothulas’ vents, cool in comparison to Prowl's frame.

Prowl's head was beginning to clear, but the lazy satiety that lingered in his frame made him reluctant to remove himself from Mesothulas’ hold.

That was the only reason, of course.

“Are you going to untie me?” he asked idly.

Mesothulas’ answering chuckle thrummed against his plating. “I haven't decided yet. Uncomfortable?”

Prowl fell quiet for a moment, analyzing his frame’s response. “Not yet. Soon.”

Mesothulas ran a hand down Prowl's arm, fingering the soft bonds. Prowl's fingers twitched and turned, trying to get at the hand, but it danced just out of reach. “How unusual to see you so honest, Prowl. I must say, it's quite nice.”

“I don’t lie to you,” Prowl sighed, unthinking. “You're the only one who understands me.”

Mesothulas fell quiet, still plucking at the bindings, until finally they fell loose. He shifted Prowl more securely against him, nearly embracing him as he cradled Prowl's wrists in both hands, massaging them gently. “I appreciate that, Prowl,” he said, finally. “And I feel much the same.”

He turned his head and pressed his mask to the top of Prowl's head, chuckling fondly. “My dear Prowl. What am I going to do with you?”

Prowl dimmed his optics, ill at ease with the hint of tenderness in Mesothulas’ voice. “I should go,” he said quietly, muffled against Mesothulas’ shoulder. He didn't move.

“No rest for the wicked, eh?” Mesothulas hummed, moving from Prowl's wrists to his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles. “You'll have to come back soon. I'm almost ready to roll out a working prototype of the Disassembly Harness. I think you'll like it.

“Maybe you should give it a test run, too,” he added in a wicked husk that set Prowl's spark awhirl.

“I'll think about it,” he mumbled stoically. Mesothulas laughed.

Despite his claims of urgency, it took longer than he cared to admit for Prowl to untangle himself from Mesothulas and climb into his anti-radiation suit to return to civilization. Mesothulas waved him off with characteristic gusto, then vanished back into the depths of his lab. Prowl left the lab with heavy thoughts.

Mesothulas was a brilliant mind, and a valuable ally. A partner, even. Maybe the only person who could understand and appreciate Prowl's goals.

But he couldn't afford to get attached. Mesothulas didn't care for the autobots, or for ending the war. He liked Prowl, perhaps, but that didn't mean their goals would always align. The day may come when Mesothulas outlived his usefulness - or Prowl outlived his -, and Prowl would need to be prepared.

The fact that that thought made an uncomfortable knot settle in his tanks was exactly the problem. He… enjoyed his time with Mesothulas. Their minds were as remarkably in tune as their bodies were--. Well. Should their partnership ever end, he would mourn the loss. But he had already done worse, sacrificed more in service of the cause, under Mesothulas’ guidance, even. If that time should come… he would not be held back.

Prowl turned that thought over in his mind, then nodded to himself, satisfied. He could allow himself to indulge in his relationship with Mesothulas, for now. He was useful, clever, and  skilled with his… hands. There was no reason to throw away a fruitful partnership over hasty fears. He wasn’t so weak as to be ruled by sentiment.

If anything, it was foolish to worry about this when he could be devoting the processor space to planning new projects to present to Mesothulas. The memory of Mesothulas entreating him to come back _soon_ made Prowl’s lines heat in a way that had very little to do with eagerness to contribute to the cause.

Yes. He would definitely have to make it soon.


End file.
